Bleached Innards
by juggernaut715
Summary: He suffers from dreams of an eclipse, of a man with eyes like a hawk, of a beautiful dark-skinned woman...and of bathing in the blood under a corpse-ridden tree. His name is Guts, and he is just one of many people hoping to find a better death in Soul Society. Unlikely, considering the people he keeps running into.


Guts was dreaming about it again. All around him were countless souls of the departed, billowing like a storm and being pumped in and out of what he sat on; a massive pump that looked suspiciously like a human heart. Somehow, in spite of the surroundings, he was at ease. But it didn't last for long. The scene shifted, and he questioned, not for the first time, whether these dreams were really just dreams.

Because, as unearthly as the eclipse he saw every night was, it was far, far too vivid to be totally made-up. A lake of blood, ministrations of monsters and demons, a massive hand constructed with severed heads reaching up towards the blackened moon-and he was there, climbing it, with naught but a knife and clothes for modesty's sake. He could feel the emotions of the moment, which just served to reinforce that this wasn't a simple dream. Anger. Frustration. And an inkling of...betrayal?

When he fell from the hand, cast down like an angel from heaven, he landed amongst the horde. An unwinnable battle ensued, and he took up one of the many abomination's horns to use as a sword-spear, taking down demon after monster with their own weapon. It did not last. Eventually, he came upon the sight of something that wrenched at his heart, and everything slipped off the hill from there.

A beautiful woman. Dark skinned, lithe, but naked and held up in the air by tentacles from several different monsters. It was ominously obvious what their intentions were, and like any reasonable man he charged forward to send them to eternal sleep. He was outnumbered a zillion to one, and didn't stand a chance. By the time he'd managed to get halfway to her the massive hand above them all had opened up, and a man with batlike wings had floated down to wrap his appendages around the woman like a cloak.

It is worth mentioning that at this point Guts had lost all sense of reason. He was insane. Rabid. Feral. And he had only one thing in his mind.

"GRIFFIIIIIIIITH!"

Even in a dream he could hear his roar of anguish. He took off like a battering ram but a lucky monster got his arm between it's teeth. So, he cut it off, and kept running. There was something that definitely struck a chord; even if this dream was just a dream, in reality he knew that below his elbow his arm practically didn't exist. The same for the odd brand he felt stinging on his neck the entire time. And, finally, the same, for when he was pinned to the ground and forced to watch; a sickle shaped claw took the sight of his right eye.

This winged man, 'Griffith,' took his time in raping the female. He did it all while staring Guts in the eye, up until the point Guts woke up from this horrible nightmare.

He stood up immediately and got into a ready stance, blinking when there was nothing attacking him. He cursed, realizing he'd just acted on instinct, remembering every other time he'd woken up after a nightmare and done the same thing. Growling softly, he tried to get the feelings of rage and terror out of his veins. Put simply, it did not work. He reached down and plucked a small stone from the dirt floor of the shack he'd spent the night in, and then clenched his hand as hard as he could.

Sufficed to say, there was no stone anymore. He felt a little better after that, but more muddled than anything else. His brain was going haywire as he tried to differentiate between the details of the dream and reality. Or was the dream reality? Or was this a dream? Exasperated, he lashed out and kicked the side of the shack, only to be rewarded with the entire thing crashing down on him.

When he shoved the bits of woodwork off of himself he finally realized it was daylight; he had to get moving if he ever wanted to reach Seireitei before his third decade. He couldn't remember exactly when he'd shown up in the 78th, one of the worst districts of all, but he had a general idea. Now he was in the 71st, gradually making his way towards hope. A sigh escaped his chapped lips as he lumbered down the rough dirt road. Hope. A fickle thing to tease children with. He had none of it, and wanted all of it. But more important at the moment was food and water.

Along the way to Seireitei he'd lost track of the road; in the lower districts it sometimes disappeared for miles, with no one to maintain it. So, he followed the closest thing he'd found to a line; the nearby river. He'd gone from following river to following road, back and forth, for quite some time. It was only a short distance away.

It was a welcome chill that filled his chest after the first few sips. His parched throat was certainly happy, and would probably be jovial if he found something to eat. Of course, there were very few places to get something to eat in the outer districts without having to pay upfront. Even less for those who lack a shirt, shoes, and a large portion of their left arm. Guts frowned at that. It wasn't just his physical appearance that pushed people away-it was something that emanated from him. People literally stepped away from him when they crossed paths on the dirt road, and in the miniscule areas that passed for towns most would huddle to the sides of the street until he'd gone past. He frowned further.

The only ones who hadn't stepped away wore easily recognizable Shihakushō and carried mystical swords. That was...disconcerting. He shook his head and tried to focus on the matter of food. He looked left, he looked right, and spotted a tiny bird. With a swoop of his hand he'd picked up a rock, and with a violent swing he'd knocked the avian out of the sky. It fell behind a tree, and he jogged to go get it. The moment he ducked under the branches a sword tip poked him in the throat.

"Hmm..." The stranger hummed, looking him over like a piece of meat. There was a massive scar trailing down the side of his face, and his hair was long and spiky. The sword, Guts noticed, was in terrible condition; with jagged edges and rusty in some places. The bird lay just in front of him. Hunger rumbled in Gut's belly, and he spoke first.

"That's mine." The swordsman blinked, looking down, then back up.

"Is it?"

"I killed it." Guts said, nodding. The pinprick sensation on his esophagus disappeared, and the man stood up, kicking the bird between Gut's legs. He spared a cautious glance back to see if it had gone into the river, which it hadn't, and turned back, grimacing when the man shoved his sword a full foot into the ground.

"Yachiru!" The man shouted, and Guts reached up and flipped whatever had landed on his shoulder to the ground. The little girl landed a little less than gracefully, but otherwise unharmed. She giggled at Guts, then looked to the man. "Keep the bird safe till we're done, hear?" She nodded, neon pink hair bouncing as she hopped over and hid the bird in her tiny tot yukata.

"Till we're...done?" The man cracked his knuckles and then put one arm behind his back-his left arm.

"Till we're done." He repeated. "We fight for the bird."

"But I killed it!"

"It landed under my tree!" Guts bit back a remark about how anyone could claim a random tree as their own. He made several steps back out into the open and took a ready stance.

"You're going to regret giving me a handicap." He growled. The man laughed, following him and entering a similar stance, though much more relaxed.

"You don't have a sword, so I won't use mine. And the arm? It just makes things more interesting. Now, come on!" The man struck out and Guts dodged by a hair, ducking under and swinging upwards to land a heavy blow against the man's chin. He lifted three inches off the ground, landed, hobbled for about a second, and then shook it off like it was nothing. Guts swung his shoulder a few times to get it loose. Clearly, this was going to be a long fight. Like two colossi duking it out.

They traded blows for what felt like days, and by nightfall both were so worn out the punches and kicks they threw were almost in slow motion. The entire time the little girl sat off to the side, watching avidly.

Guts swung his entire body with the next kick, landing a thudding kick against the man's side that made ribs audibly squeak under the pressure. In retaliation the man slugged him across the jaw so hard it nearly twisted his head off. Then, in lieu of an unspoken agreement, they paused for half a minute to catch their breath. They'd been doing this for over an hour, this trade of blows and then a brief respite. It was painfully obvious to the both of them that this simply wasn't going to end before they fell asleep on their feet. The stranger spat blood out the side of his mouth, gritting his teeth.

He'd had been enjoying the fight up until he felt his femur fracture. This wasn't a fight. It was a brawl. And while brawls were fun, there wasn't any real glory to be had without swords involved. All he was doing was just injuring his body pointlessly; the other man seemed to be breathing just as hard, but capable of continuing.

Guts, on the other hand, just wanted to take a nap. He'd be black and blue all over from this fight, but at least he'd get some shut-eye. That, and he'd been hearing odd crinkling sounds from his fist for the past two hours. He wondered if his fingers were broken.

This entire battle was pointless. The entire day was gone already, and all they'd done was batter each other with blows that did nothing in the long run. What had they been fighting about, anyways?

"Oops!" A girlish squeak came from the sidelines. Both combatants heads turned to find Yachiru innocently putting out a fire and wiping feathers from her mouth. "I accidently ate the bird."

"Oh." "Huh?" Both men said at once. They caught each other's gaze, and by another unspoken agreement, trudged over to where the tyke was putting out the fire and sat down.

"Start the fire again, Yachiru." She did as asked in record time, bathing them in gentle warmth. "Zaraki Kenpachi." He said, nodding to Guts.

"Guts."

"Guts? Ha!" Kenpachi laughed, unsheathing his sword from the ground and swinging it over his shoulder. "You got guts, Guts." He rubbed his jaw. "And a killer left hook."

"Your kicks are...painful."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The two sort-of-acquaintances fell into a companionable silence, staring at the flickering flames. Eventually, it was broken.

"Kenpachi." Guts said, testing the name. "I've heard that name before." He didn't have to mention that 'Zaraki' was a district; the 80th of the Northern Alley, the worst. Obviously, Kenpachi hailed from there.

"The strongest warrior with the most slain and greatest skills in every generation." It sounded almost like a rehearsed speech, but Kenpachi made it sound sincere. "What particular meaning does 'Guts' have?"

"I have no idea." Guts answered honestly. "My name was the only thing I remembered when I showed up here. And no, before you ask, I don't have a surname."

"Huh. Lucky." Kenpachi murmured, before catching Gut's curious look. "I had no name for a while, till I took my own. How long you been dead?"

"Something like three decades."

"Youngling. I've got at least five under my belt." The swordsman rubbed the side of his head. "I think."

"This 'youngling' cracked several of your ribs." Kenpachi had no answer to that, so he leaned back against the tree bark and closed his eyes.

"Where are you going?" He asked, after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm? Going?" Kenpachi opened one eye, staring at Guts for a moment before shrugging.

"Everyone in Rukongai has somewhere to go. Some go straight to dying a second time, others find a place for themselves. A niche. You don't look like you found one yet, by the lack of your shoes."

"You don't have shoes either." Guts pointed out.

"Doesn't matter." Kenpachi admonished, waving a hand. "I haven't found my niche yet."

"So what's yours?"

"I asked first." Guts sighed, leaning back and holding himself up on his one remaining hand. He glanced up at the stars through the branches and held up his sword above his head, pointing it towards the moon-he blinked, and the sword disappeared.

"Huh." He murmured. A hallucination? "I don't know." He said, looking back at Kenpachi. "I'm going to Seireitei to find out."

"Same here." Kenpachi said, tilting his head sideways in thought.

"Do you wanna travel together?" They said in unison.

"Oh, god no." Guts said.

"Hell no." Kenpachi amended. Both had already forgotten they'd both asked the question. Kenpachi stood, and the little girl was on his shoulder before Guts had blinked. "I'll be leaving first, then. Good luck killing another bird."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll laugh if you aren't there when I show up."

"Shut up!" Kenpachi yelled, already twenty feet away. "I'll be waiting for you, Guts! Best not," he fluttered a hand off to the side, "keep me waiting."

"Yeah." Guts muttered. "Yeah." He felt a little conviction take root in his heart, then. Something to keep him going towards that one goal, towards hope; Seireitei.

It was three days later he met his first major obstacle. Kenpachi didn't count.


End file.
